RSVP with Love. Sandra Kitt

of the matter was the couple didn’t have to come at all. It wasn’t part of their agreement.

      Mrs. Fields sighed, remorseful.

      Chloe realized that she would have to rescue the afternoon and protect the memory of the day. She’d have to take responsibility for it to end on an up note.

      “You’ve never been here before. Would you like to look around?”

      “Sure is pretty,” Mr. Fields commented as they fell into step together and headed back toward the quad, around which all the buildings were laid out. “Not like where we live, right, Nettie?”

      “Well, we can’t always help where we’re born and raised,” Mrs. Fields sighed. “But Chloe got lucky, thank the good Lord.”

      Chloe smiled warmly at Mrs. Fields. “I also got lucky and had you and Mr. Fields.”

      Nettie Fields brushed the compliment aside with an airy wave of her hand. “We didn’t do much. Why, look at her now. Don’t she look grown up, Harold?”

      “Sure do.”

      Mrs. Fields gasped and stopped walking. “Honey, we didn’t take you away from anything, did we? You know, maybe meeting friends later. Was that young man about to ask you to join him?”

      Chloe shook her head, looking down at her feet and inexpensive pumps.

      She wished.

      “No, he wasn’t. Kevin Stayton and I never hung out together. He’s not really a friend.”

      She hoped that the longing and schoolgirl crush weren’t obvious. It was one thing to hold out hope with such a ridiculous thought. It was another for anyone to know and only make fun of her.

      Chloe knew exactly the direction Kevin and his girlfriend had walked. Covertly she let her eyes find them, standing in the shadows of a tree near the entrance to the student lounge. They were embracing and kissing, unmindful of anyone else walking by making comments about their open display of affection.

      She hardly thought Kevin Stayton was going to remember her, let alone give her a second thought.

      Chapter 1

      “Hey, girl! It’s good to see you.”

      Chloe was in midstride to shake hands with the gregarious petite young woman who greeted her but was never given the chance. Kyra Dixon ignored her outstretched hand and, instead, reached out her arms. She was expecting a hug that Chloe found herself obliged to give.

      “Oh…okay. Hi,” Chloe managed awkwardly, as she hugged Kyra back and found herself engulfed in the whiff of floral perfume.

      Kyra laughed. “You forgot the Hollington Hello? What’s this shaking hands stuff? I want some sugar, girl.”

      Chloe tried to glance around the other guests having lunch in the faculty dining room and was relieved to see that no one was paying attention to this dramatic greeting. Not at all used to this from someone she hadn’t seen in ten years, Chloe nonetheless gave in and followed Kyra’s lead. Even as she would have withdrawn after they touched cheek to cheek and air-kissed, Chloe found Kyra’s hello more suited to a favorite girlfriend or a beloved relative. They had not really been friends as undergraduates and certainly hadn’t moved in the same circles.

      With a gentle push Kyra directed Chloe to the empty chair opposite her at the large square table. Chloe settled herself in the comfortable high-back chair and, in the thirty seconds it took Kyra to take her own seat again, she closely observed the other woman.

      Kyra was dressed in an eye-catching broad floral-print black-and-red silk blouse, worn with a black skirt. She wore black two-inch heels, probably in the hope that they would add height to her petite frame. She managed to look professional, feminine and cheerful. Her hair was worn straight to chin level and was parted off center so that it curved gently to frame her pretty face. As if on cue Kyra was making her own observations of Chloe.

      “Your hair used to be short.”

      Chloe sat back and spread her napkin over her lap.

      “Actually, I wore it mostly cornrowed. It was easier to take care of and cost less than going to the beauty parlor every two weeks. I stopped wearing the cornrows when I got my first job. I wanted to look—”

      “More mainstream.” Kyra nodded, knowingly. She eyed Chloe thoughtfully. “Is it all yours or a weave?”

      “Mine,” Chloe said with a small, satisfied smile. “Every strand.”

      “I know what you’re thinking.” Kyra sighed, settling back in her chair that seemed to swallow her small frame. She crossed her legs. “We’re still putting ourselves through hoops to be taken seriously in business. I can tell you I would not be PR director if I appeared Afrocentric. Hollington has a different message to send out about its students.”

      “So did I. For myself,” Chloe said.

      “I hear you. So…when I was told that the Alumni Association had asked you to organize the homecoming this fall, I said Chloe who?” Kyra remarked, chuckling at her own humor. “It took a while before I could recall you. Then I remembered you and I were tortured together in that African dance class with that professor who was eighty if she was a day!”

      Kyra broke out in a merry giggle, making it impossible for Chloe to take offense. To her Kyra’s observation was proof that she’d done a good job of staying under the radar as an undergraduate. Chloe knew she had good reasons to be cautious, but Kyra didn’t need to know what they were.

      Anyway, she remembered Kyra from the aforementioned dance class but only because Kyra had been terrible at the ritual movements that called for a looseness of limbs and gyration of hips and butt. Instead, Kyra treated the class lightly, becoming the loveable uncoordinated participant who broke into laughter at her own mistakes and was accused of not having any natural rhythm. Crossing her legs and straightening the hem of her summer linen dress, Chloe also recalled that at first she’d thought Kyra was silly. But she’d come to admire that, rather than take a two-point elective class too seriously, Kyra had set about simply having fun and probably enjoying herself more than anyone. And she passed the class.

      “It was either that dance class or the history of textiles,” Chloe contributed to the memory.

      “Right!” Kyra nodded, rolling her eyes. “I figured with the dancing maybe I’d get into my African roots. Forget that!” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand, giggling again.

      Having been presented with the single-paged menu for the day, both Chloe and Kyra selected the grilled salmon with julienne carrots and saffron rice.

      Chloe’s assumption of a straightforward business meeting with Kyra had to be revisited as her former Hollington College classmate proceeded to treat her like a long-lost friend, gossiping about other classmates, school scandals and changes in college policies.

      “I was also surprised to hear from you,” Chloe said. “I didn’t know you’d been hired by Hollington. How long have you been here?”

      Kyra sighed as their moment of levity faded away. “Six years. I was just another assistant before they made me PR director. Let me tell you, it feels so strange to be back here and not have to worry about term papers and grades. As an administrator I have a whole ’nother perspective,” she said wryly. “Remember how much we held the faculty and staff with suspicion? They were all, ‘the other.’ Now I’m one of them.”

      Chloe remembered no such thing—only how grateful she was to have been chosen to attend Hollington on a full scholarship. She hadn’t treated any of those four years lightly.

      “That’s fine. You can see and appreciate both sides.”

      “That’s true, but it’s an interesting balancing act. I totally empathize with the students, having survived myself as one here at Hollington. But I also understand the responsibility from the college point of view. And there are other memories.”